


Unspoken

by Amelior8or



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Misunderstandings, not-quite romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelior8or/pseuds/Amelior8or
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After many years and many adventures, what Sanji and Nami say to each other are rarely what they actually say to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This entire story was inspired by a single filler episode in which Sanji and Nami are on an island, and Sanji gets attacked while carrying Nami's bags. See the end for more notes.
> 
> This is an old fic from my livejournal days that I'm transferring over. Apologies for any cross-postings you may see!

What Sanji and Nami say to each other are rarely what they actually say to each other.

Neither really knew when their odd form of communication began. But after many years and many adventures along the Grand Line, understanding between them no longer needed to be said in exact words.

If asked, Nami would obviously claim to have been the first to catch on to the subtext in Sanji’s words. From day one, every statement the cook made in her direction was laced with an unspoken declaration of love. And, once in a while, Sanji would simply drop the subtext, and shout to the heavens unabashed, “I love you, Nami-swan!”

Gradually, though, after many years and many adventures, Nami began to see through the moony-eyed sap he became around her, and began to understand the nuance and intent behind his words.

When Sanji said, “Nami-swan, you are a beautiful genius!”, what he really meant was _You survive the Grand Line with your brains, not your looks. Let no one take that from you._

When Sanji brought her treats after a long day of map-making and said, “Nami-swan, I made a delicious afternoon snack to revitalize you,” what he really meant was _I worry that you’ll wear yourself out working like this._

When he firmly placed himself in front of her and growled out that “Nami-san is a lady. You will respect her. No man will lay his hands on Nami-san without her permission,” the set of his chin silently adds, _Including me._

And once in a while, when Sanji cried out “I love you, Nami-swan!”, Nami would catch the soft downward pull of his lips and the cant of his eyes, and knew what he really meant was _Even if you will never love me in return_.

If asked, Sanji would firmly claim that his Nami-san was the first to realize the extent of their unspoken conversation. Yet a firm understanding of her charms and grace has been a priority to him since the beginning. And so, after many years and many adventures, Sanji always noticed the minute changes in what she told him.

When she placed her hands on her hips as said, “Sanji-kun, don’t smoke near me when I’m making maps,” the curl of her lip added, _You’ll kill yourself doing that._

When a fight broke out after a day ashore, and Nami said, “Sanji-kun, make sure you don’t damage anything in my shopping bags,” what she really meant was _Don’t be stupid enough to get hurt._

When she gave him a firm smack and said, “Idiot! Don’t flirt with the girls in the street,” the twitch of her eyebrow showed more than irritation, and simply said, _I don’t want to see you doing that._

And once in a while, when Nami tilted her head and batted her lashes and said, “Sanji-kun, you don’t mind doing me a little favour, do you?”, the odd catch in her voice and piercing look in her eye showed that what she really meant was _I can trust you with this, right?_

And Sanji would smile at the nuance and charming articulation of her words, and knew that even those unspoken words spoke volumes.

The words themselves never changed, as the unspoken phrases behind them did. To any witness, they simply shared the same banter over and over again out of friendly tradition and comradery. And so, after many years and many adventures, the navigator and the cook settled into a comfortable and consistent routine of understanding and conversation.

Until the morning that Nami woke up in Sanji’s bed.

When she had opened her eyes, she had realized within a moment that the room was unfamiliar, and that the bed was not hers. She had realized a moment later that she wasn’t alone, and that a lanky blond chef lay there next to her, hands tucked behind his head, wide-awake eyes staring off in thought. The moment she had realized that she had spent the night with her head nestled upon his shoulder and her arm draped comfortably over his chest was the last one that she needed.

“Sanji?! What the hell!” She had launched herself out of the bed, and after a quick and grateful check, made sure all of her clothes were accounted for on her person.

Sanji had snapped out of his thoughtful silence to look at the redhead. “Ah, Nami-san, you’re awake. Good morning.” At her dangerous glare, however, Sanji carefully sat up and amended, “Nami-san, I can explain…”

Barely pausing to note that Sanji was also fully clothed, Nami had backed up to a safe and uncompromising distance, shouting, “How dare you do this to me, Sanji? I know you’re a womanizer, but kidnapping someone to your bed in the middle of the night? That is too much!”

“Do you not remember, Nami-san…?” Sanji began helplessly, as his fingers had gone unconsciously scrambling for any nearby cigarette.

“There’s nothing I need to remember!” she raged. “Last night I went to bed in my bed, in the girl’s cabin, and you snuck in during the night to drag me away to curl up with you in your own bed!” Nami, still knowing she was fully clothed, had wrapped her arms tightly around herself nonetheless.

The rest of the men in the cabin had already begun waking up at the commotion. Luffy was trying to rub the drowsiness from his face, while Zoro, uncharacteristically awake, had watched the scene with keen eyes. Chopper was sensible enough to have hidden unsuccessfully beside a curtain, and Usopp had snored through it all, not to wake up until long after Nami had stormed out.

Oblivious to the bystanders, Sanji had grown progressively paler. “Nami-san, please… I would never compromise a lady’s honor… please, please don’t misunderstand, Nami-san…” _Please, even if you never have before, believe me just this once_...

“I can’t believe you!” Nami shrieked, an odd catch in her voice and a piercing hurt in her eyes. “You were my nakama! But after everything we’ve all gone through, you still act like a perverted worm! I hate you!” _I had an understanding with you… I trusted you!_

“Nami- san, no!” Sanji had lurched up as the girl stormed towards the door, as his fingers let the cigarette and unlit match fall. “Please, let me explain…!” _Listen! I need you to listen to what I need to say!_

However, when Nami had screamed “Don’t ever talk to me again!” as she slammed out of the cabin, it was abundantly clear that she had meant exactly what she had said.

*** *** *** ***

Three days later, Nami still fumed at the chef. By this point, the entire crew knew full well of the incident that had transpired. Despite the navigator’s constant pestering, Robin had been sound asleep that night, and thus could bear no witness to Sanji’s crime. Chopper still avoided Nami like the plague in fear of catching her wrath, and Zoro simply shook his head and muttered, “Stupid woman. Stupid love-chef,” whenever the incident was brought to his ears.

Sanji, in penance, followed Nami’s orders to the letter. Instead of a string of verbose inanities, the cook simply placed the trays of food and drink on a nearby table, bowed his acknowledgements to her, and ghosted out without a word. A few quiet compliments were offered to Robin with her drinks, but it was plainly obvious that the efforts were lack-luster if best.

Nami, in retribution, responded in kind. What few words she spoke to Sanji were simply that – words. Whenever she said “Help with the sails, Sanji,” or “I’d like a drink, Sanji,” she refused to put any meaning behind the phrases other than _I hate you, I hate you_.

Lacking the familiar conversation, Nami convinced herself that she got much more done. A few maps were spoiled by distraction, and a few storms were caught almost-too-late, yet Nami still told herself this as she stood at the prow of the ship.

_I’m fine_ , she thought. _I’m just fine even if that pervert is pretending to be devastated!_ Checking the bearing of the ship to the log post on her wrist, her other fist pounded into the ship’s railing the steady rhythm of her thoughts.

_May the next woman he flirts with dump him in the ocean after stealing his money. May all of his recipes blow up in his face. May the stupid perverted dastardly idiot_ –

“Oi! Nami!”

Startled, Nami spun to see Luffy and Zorro approach her at the ship’s prow. “Oi, Nami!” Luffy called again. “Are you still mad at Sanji?”

Nami sniffed. “Why? Has he been complaining that I’m not around?”

Zorro growled. “Shaddup. You don’t have to listen to it. All he does is pine over you, you unforgiving demon.”

“I don’t care if he does! He deserves it!” Nami snapped. “He can keep pining on the rest of his life… after what he did to me, I don’t care about him at all!”

“Don’t care, eh?” Zorro asked. He looked her straight in the eye, then shifted his gaze down to linger on her hands. “You’re bleeding.”

Nami followed his gaze. Sure enough, the fist that she had been pounding into the railing was bloodied and bruised, and she hadn’t even noticed.

“Nami,” Luffy said, “Why are you angry at Sanji?”

The navigator narrowed her eyes. “You stupid idiot. He took me from my bed in the middle of the night!” The swell of anger swept along with it what she really meant to say: I can never trust him again.

Luffy paused. “But Sanji didn’t go anywhere. Nami climbed into Sanji’s bed. Nami always climbs into Sanji’s bed.”

Those few words, void of any subtext, suddenly sheared away any understanding from the world that Nami knew.

Floored, and unable to speak, all she could manage while she processed Luffy’s words was a softly stuttered “… _What?_ ”

“You sleepwalk or something,” Zorro said, slouching down on the railing and preparing for a nap. “Every now and then you wander around the ship without waking up. You don’t talk to anyone, or climb overboard, you just crawl into Sanji’s bed and keep sleeping.” At Nami’s horrified look, the swordsman snorted. “Don’t worry. He never does anything. Won’t wreck a lady’s honor or something. Every time you do it, he keeps his hands firmly planted behind his head and doesn’t sleep a wink the entire night. Carries you back to your cabin before you wake up in the morning. He musta just forgot, this time.”

Sleepwalking? Nami tried to keep her head from spinning. “How many times? How often have I… hey! Zorro!” The resounding hit to his head did nothing to wake the sleeping swordsman, nor answer her question. Desperately, she turned to Luffy.

The captain shrugged. “Six times. Or ten.” He scratched his chin. “It might be about thirty.”

“That does nothing to help me!” She geared up to throw another punch, but let her arm drop, and sighed. “All those times he carried me back to my bed…why did Sanji-kun never say anything? Why did he keep it secret for so long?” Why do I not remember doing this to him a single time? Why did he pretend that nothing happened?

The captain shrugged. “Sometimes, things don’t need to be said.”

Again, the words were drained from her, dissolved with her anger at her captain’s simple note. Though the words were never meant for him nor anyone else, the navigator finally realized that after so many years and so many adventures, the understanding between Sanji and Nami was one that was understood by more people than just Sanji and Nami.

More than just Luffy understood. Zorro clearly understood, and Robin and Usopp and even Chopper probably understood as well. And Nami began to realize what the rest of the crew already knew: that the last three days were a breach in Nami and Sanji’s understanding. Nami had spent the last three days making her opinions of the chef abundantly clear. She had spent the last three days making sure she didn’t hear a single thing the chef needed to say.

Solemnly, Nami leaned forward and hugged her goofy captain friend. “Thank you, Luffy, thank you for not hiding anything in your words. But I have to go talk to Sanji now. I need to make amends with someone I wronged.”

The rubber man beamed and adjusted his hat. “I’m glad you and Sanji are nakama again!” He blinked. “Who do you need to make amends with, Nami?”

Nami just smiled and shook her head as she ran down towards the kitchen.

*** *** *** ***

Sanji was elbow-deep in dishes when Nami silently opened the door to the galley. He was lost in thought when she gently cleared her throat and said, “Sanji-kun?”

Nami heard a dish crack as Sanji spun to face her. Flicking his gaze down, Sanji grabbed for a cloth and conscientiously pressed his lips together. Even though he didn’t say a word, Nami understood exactly what his eyes really said – _I’ve lost her._

After a pause of uncomfortable silence, Nami scuffed her shoe and said, “You know, Sanji-kun, you don’t have to take my order not to speak seriously.”

Sanji blinked uncertainly and hazarded a cautious “Nami-san?”

“Well,” The navigator began, setting her jaw and studying the knives hanging behind Sanji’s left ear. “Zoro told me about my sleep-walking and how well you behaved about it, and Luffy said he wanted us to still be nakama, and I’ve been unfair because of a misunderstanding, and I wanted to tell you that I’m – ” her voice caught, and she swallowed once or twice, finally ending, “I’m not angry at you for kidnapping me anymore.”

She saw Sanji relax, probably for the first time in days, and felt a small knot of tension leave her own stomach. He understood. He dried his hand, and shoved one in his pocket, fishing for a cigarette.

“I’m sorry, too, Nami-san, for not telling you about it sooner.” She knew that he deftly ignored the soft blush on her cheeks, though it was an image he would cherish forever.

“I’m also sorry for waiting,” he continued. “Waiting too long, I mean, and not bringing you back to your own bed on time. I got lost thinking about things.” He slouched with his back against the counter, exhausted. He struck the match for the cigarette, hesitated to light it in front of her, and then swallowed a small smile as Nami waved a distracted dismissal. “If I had brought you back in time, nothing would have changed.”

“How long, Sanji-kun?” Nami asked, finally meeting his eye. She slouched with her back to the kitchen table, worried. “How many times have I done this to you without knowing?” she paused. “Luffy said… around thirty times…”

Sanji laughed, knowing that she would know that it was laughter at the captain, not her. He took a long drag of the cigarette and blew the smoke at the ceiling. “No, no, Nami-swan, nothing that frequent. Three days ago was the fourth time, ever.” He let his gaze linger on the ceiling boards. “You come no more than once a year. Once a year, every year, on the exact same day.”

Nami barely needed a thought to know what the date was three days ago, what day it had been every year since she was eight. “… oh,” she murmured. She sank into a nearby chair, grabbed a treasured orange, and missed Sanji’s small smile as she began to distractedly peel it without bothering for permission. _Bellemere… you still affect me this much?_

“The death of one loved is never easy,” Sanji murmured, and Nami snapped her eyes back to his. For the second time in a day, Nami knew that she had grossly underestimated how much her nakama could see in her words. Sighing, Nami let her shoulders slump.

“Why, Sanji-kun?” she asked. “Why did you never tell me, every time it happened, even if you knew why?”

Instead of answering, Sanji pulled the cigarette from his lips and frowned. His gaze, drifted back from the ceiling, keenly watched the orange in her hands “Nami-san, you’re bleeding.”

In the breath it took Nami to stare down at her forgotten injury, Sanji was already across the room and kneeling at her feet, taking her wrist in his careful hands. “Sanji-kun…”

“Never harm your hands, Nami-san,” Sanji chided, using his damp cloth to remove the drying blood. “The are the delicate instruments of your beautiful genius, and must never be abused for something as unworthy as a man.”

“I never said…” Nami allowed the words to die unspoken. Her gaze, drifted away from their hands, keenly watched the worried curve of his brow and the shrinking cigarette. “Sanji-kun, why? After I treat you like this, and shout at you like this, and reject you over and over like this, why? Why do you still do this for me?”

Sanji ground out the cigarette, looked up at Nami with a downward pull in his lips and an odd cant in his eyes, and softly said, “I love you, Nami-swan.”

His lips and his eyes meant more than just _Even if you never love me in return_. They meant _Even if you will never love me in return, I will remain devoted in every action I take. Even more, the devotion extended to the moments in which he did nothing at all_. In every action he didn’t take, every confession he didn’t make, in every conversation he didn’t pursue, he really meant to say that he would wait. He would wait even if she hit him, screamed at him, or simply hated him. He would love her even if she could never love him back, but he would wait just in case, some day, she might.

Nami pulled her hand away from Sanji’s, and used them to cover her face, whispering, barely audible, “Sanji-kun… I’m sorry.” _Sorry for being awful to you, sorry for being a selfish thief, sorry for never earning you, never deserving you, sorry for not knowing if you’ll win, despite all you do_. “Sanji-kun, what if after all this, all your devotion, I don’t… we don’t… because I can’t…”

There was a soft thunk, and Nami looked up to see a freshly peeled orange placed on the table beside her, Sanji standing just behind it.

“You are, Nami-san, first and foremost my nakama,” the chef said. “After many more years and many more adventures, that will never change, no matter what else does. Perhaps, even then, we will have nothing more than conversations, and that is enough. Perhaps, in a year, you will need me beside you for a single night, and that is enough.”

With that, he lit another cigarette and headed for the door. As he carefully placed the cloth on a safe part of the counter, he heard the scrape of Nami’s chair.

“Perhaps,” she said, “someday, conversations won’t quite be enough. Perhaps… someday less than a year.”

As Sanji smiled and felt the galley door close behind him, he heard Nami snap in the background, “And stop smoking around me!”

**Author's Note:**

> I spent more time experimenting with the rhythm and the resonances of the story than the actual story-telling itself, which you may have noticed. The stilted feeling of it was deliberate, at least until the end. It's a bit odd going back to this after four years and reading it over – my writing has changed so much, and part of me was tempted to go back and do a proper overhaul of this. I decided to leave it as is, though, sort of as a momento of my pre-grad-school writing. Thank you again for reading!


End file.
